


and good-morrow to our waking souls

by Cerberusia



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/F, Femslash February, Kissing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-01
Updated: 2015-03-01
Packaged: 2018-03-15 17:38:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3455954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cerberusia/pseuds/Cerberusia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Strange, that she should only now be considering the value of tenderness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	and good-morrow to our waking souls

**Author's Note:**

> My Femslash February contribution! I meant to write a longer thing, but then I spent much of this month being ill and complaining about being ill so I just wrote you teenage girls snogging instead. In case it's not obvious, this is AU from the end of S2, and the title is from Donne.

They are sat on Lydia's bed, doing homework. The curtains are drawn against the darkness and the low lamplight and soft mattress make the room feel protected, a little secret. Lydia has completed her algebra and calculus, and is now sprawled on her stomach making bullet points outlining what Mrs. Seeley wants in this English essay. That the substitute teacher is new adds only a little difficulty to the task.

She has fantasies, sometimes, of what might have happened if she'd decided not to care about popularity and just gone ahead and done AP classes as a freshman and headed off to Harvard or MIT or Columbia at sixteen. She'd wanted a normal high-school experience.

(Allison had told her what was going on; what had really happened to her. Lydia had said _I don't want to be involved in this any more_ and Allison had looked very tired and said _yeah, me neither_. Two months into their junior year, Scott still stops to watch Allison walk past in the hallways; lately she's looked back less. Jackson texts Lydia too much for her to miss him properly).

Allison, cross-legged at the head of the bed, is finishing off her calculus, nibbling cutely on her pencil. Lydia has given what help she can: now it's up to her to work through the problems. The warm lamp light emphasizes the muscle in her arms. Lydia knows there's a crossbow in her purse and although the dreams are gone it still makes her feel better.

(Allison had said: _do you know what I really want this semester?_ Lydia had said: _to move schools?_ Allison had said, _an A in math_ , and Lydia had said, _I think that can be arranged_ ).

The sound of Allison's pen grows louder momentarily, then ceases. Lydia looks up from her own paper to see her consider her last answer for a long moment, then shut her book with a satisfied air.

"Lydia," she says, "have you ever made out with a girl?"

There are several places this conversation could go, answers definite or ambiguous. Lydia can see the web of possibilities laid out before her like a net. So many - but Allison is sweet and her long legs are enticingly smooth, and Lydia knows where she wants to go. She says,

"Not yet."

Allison grins and giggles. She doesn't say _would you like to?_ , so Lydia doesn't have to give her the basilisk stare: she just puts her books on the floor, scoots so her back is against Lydia's embarrassment of pillows, and opens her arms. Lydia tosses her lined paper to join Allison's books - Tennessee Williams can wait - and crawls to her in a way that emphasizes her breasts. She straddles Alllison's thighs easily and rests her weight on them, feet tucked up in a way that will prove uncomfortable in a while.

Allison is exceptionally pretty, she thinks: doe-like eyes and exceptional cheekbones. And she's learnt proper make-up application from somewhere, probably YouTube. Lydia brushes a curl away from her face, watches Allison's little nervous smile and her pearly teeth bite the centre of her shiny lip, and leans forward to kiss off all her lipgloss.

Allison's lips are not softer than those of the boys Lydia has made out with, but they are stickier and more fruit-scented. Lydia presses hers to them a few times, gentle motions.

Shyly, Allison's mouth opens and her tongue flickers over Lydia's lower lip. Well, she had said 'making out'. Lydia, who hadn't previously considered shyness an attractive trait, reaches up to press her palm gently to Allison's cheek, thumb just under the delicate eye socket. 

She opens her mouth to Allison, touches the tip of her tongue to hers, and has to suppress a shiver of delight. Their tongues slide together; Lydia slides her other hand to grasp Allison's shoulder and opens her mouth wider. Allison teases, tracing her lips with her tongue, pulling away to nibble the lower. Lydia presses closer and feels Allison's breasts against her own.

The hand on Allison's cheek slips into her hair instead, and Lydia, hot with desire, keeps her exactly where she wants her while she thrusts her tongue into her best friend's mouth and pulls herself forward to straddle her thighs. Allison's mouth parts willingly and her hands tangle in the material of Lydia's shirt.

Lydia wishes she'd unbutton it. It'd be well beyond friendly just-to-try-it make-outs, but she wants Allison to unbutton her shirt or at least sneak a hand up it, and she would do the same for Allison and heft the weight of her breasts, glimpsed only through clothes, just the two of them fondling each other's breasts. She thinks that if Allison puts a hand on her thigh, she will combust with sexual excitement.

The boys Lydia goes for are either healthy, fit and not too bright, in which case she likes being the the sun to their worshipful moons; or healthy, fit and decently intelligent, in which case she enjoys matching wits - understanding that of course she will come out on top, because they're never _that_ clever. (Jackson was an outlier because he was simultaneously trophy boyfriend and friend, something Lydia would usually consider bad form). She has spent several years enjoying their attentions: smiles in the corridor, a tongue in her mouth, a hand on her ass. None of them were experienced enough to be that good at sex, but it fulfilled an animal hunger in her and as aesthetically displeasing as penises are, watching boys' faces when she squeezes them gives her a thrill.

Strange, that she should have spent so long only valuing partners for how powerful they made her feel. Strange, that she should only now be considering the value of tenderness. She wants to have sex and have a conversation afterwards about things they're both interested in. She wants to paint Allison's nails and kiss her nipples. She wants it to be easy, for once.

Allison pulls away, tilts her head to expose her long neck. Her rouge has rubbed off, cheeks flushed for real; her lips shine wetly in the low light from the bedside lamp. Her strong arm is around Lydia's waist.

"Can I take you on a date this Saturday?" she asks, dark eyes big and hopeful. Lydia regains her breath, tamps down a hysterical giggle, and says:

"If I can take you on one at the same time."

And then she kisses Allison again before she can work out what that means, smile pressing against smile.


End file.
